


Fisticuffs

by Ealasaid



Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slick thinks Droog doesn't get his hands dirty enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fisticuffs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blacktail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktail/gifts).



Diamonds Droog pulls off his suit jacket fastidiously and hangs it in the BRAWLSOLEUM carefully, making sure not to put it in a position as to get wrinkled. He rolls up the sleeves of his plain white 100% cotton button-down shirt perfectly, leaving the ends just above his elbows. Lastly, he loosens his tie and gently rolls it up before putting it to one side.

With that done, he turns to the man tied to the chair and begins the “interrogation.”

Droog lays it on him, carefully calculated blows that snap the guy’s head back and make meaty thuds. The man’s face splits and bleeds. He gasps and groans and makes strange whistling noises beneath it.

“So,” Droog says finally, shaking out his fist as he stands negligently to one side. “When was it that you ended up talking to the Felt, hmmm?”

The informer sputters words behind broken teeth, stammering half answers and please for mercy. From the corner, Slick snarls curses and threats. “You’re not answering me,” the mobster says pleasantly, and starts again.

It’s after a few more rounds before the informer is convinced in the veracity of his testimony; with a terse “We’ll come back later,” Droog and Slick leave the room.

“Are you satisfied, Slick?” Droog asks disinterestedly, contemplating the bathroom sink as they walk down the hall of the building. He’s going to have to wash the blood off before he can safely handle his clothes again, and he’s quietly pleased that his white shirt is unstained.

“Fuck,” Slick grinds out behind a cigarette. “’S about time you hit somebody instead’a shooting them or using that cue stick of yours.”

“Engaging in fisticuffs is inefficient and messy,” Droog crisply replies.

“It’s inefficient because you fuss over your fucking clothes for so goddamn long that everyone has the chance to run away,” is the growling response. “Fucking pussy.”

If Droog had pupils, the way he rolled his eyes right then would have been grounds for a snarling bitchfight from the shorter man.


End file.
